“Haven. I had to close it down a good fifteen years ago, but before I did, I helped a lot of women with infertility conceive through vat-grown wombs.” She gazed out ahead, eyes distant. “They signed over their data rights to the company—people were so much sloppier about that sort of thing back then—so I had access to a huge database of women who wanted to be parents. A few years ago, when I realised Project Atalanta was progressing well and we actually had a shot, I ran big data analysis and came up with a list of those who are sympathetic to what we are trying to achieve. Politically, ethically, morally. There are five thousand names. They can bring their partners and children on the first ship.”

“And they all just kept silent about this for years?” Naomi asked, feeling sick.

“Of course not. They have no idea they’ve been selected. But I’m confident at least eighty per cent of them will jump at the chance. Their personalities are adventurous enough. We’ll have our pick. A ratio of ten climate change orphans to one caretaker, plus their own offspring, should be sufficient.

“So we welcome the first exodus ship, get them settled. We’ll be able to raise them without the influences that had shaped previous generations. A few years later, when the children are nearing adulthood, we’ll allow another few ships of children. Repeat. In roughly fifteen years, the rest of humanity can arrive into a world with existing infrastructure. Fewer country allegiances. Open borders. Everything we’ve discussed.”

Naomi let out a breath.

“Can you think of another way?” Valerie asked. “This isn’t some whimsy. I have been running scenarios in my head for years. If we bring over the adults in large numbers first, there will be the usual scrabble for power. New versions of old countries. They won’t even change names, they’ll be so lazy. Imagine a Nova Nova Scotia.” She gave a bitter laugh. “We mix everyone up. Teach sciences and arts. Keep their wonder and curiosity. Think about what it could be.”

Naomi had no idea how to feel. She should be horrified, but she could see the reasoning. It did almost make sense. A chance to truly start anew. Her hand strayed to her stomach. It meant her child wouldn’t grow up alone.

“You can’t,” Hart said, but even she sounded unsure.

“I can’t, no. But we can.” She leaned forward, eyes so wide they showed the whites. “We could have the upper hand. Finally call those in power on their bullshit. Break it all down. Build it all up again. They can think of it as boarding school, if they like. Or an orphanage a hell of a lot better than any they’d be shunted off into back on Earth. I like the idea of orphans being first in line instead of last.”